


All Bets Are Off

by Marks



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bets & Wagers, Canon Compliant, Exes, Flashbacks, Getting Back Together, Haikyuu!! Manga Spoilers, M/M, Olympics, Post-Time Skip, Sendai Frogs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:48:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28229391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marks/pseuds/Marks
Summary: Kyoutani and Yahaba haven’t been close in years, and before that, they were hooking up. So, of course, they bet on the Olympics.
Relationships: Kyoutani Kentarou/Yahaba Shigeru
Comments: 25
Kudos: 205
Collections: Haikyuu Secret Santa 2020





	All Bets Are Off

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Eve (broodingheroine@tumblr) for Haikyuu Secret Santa IV on Discord. She wanted Kyoyaba with dumb rivalries and useless competitions with Tanaka just existing, and I took that as an excuse to write some Sendai Frogs post-canon. I hope you like this, Eve!

Kyoutani’s hands are full, so of course that’s when his phone starts to ring. He sighs and drops his practice bag on the pavement so he can fish it out. 

The tiny screen reads _Yahaba Shigeru_. Kyoutani still can’t quite get over that they’re sort of, kind of friends again. The guy practically went undercover after they left Seijoh, only showing up in his life again when he heard Kyoutani got onto the Frogs. The first time had been a call of congratulations, and he figured that was it. No one really stayed in touch with their high school hook-ups, after all.

“You forget how to answer that?” Tsukishima asks, passing by on his way to the train. They sometimes ride together, since they grew up in the same area, trying to duck Koganegawa, who’s also from their area but much, much louder. Tsukishima’s okay. Kind of a jerk, but really good at volleyball. Kyoutani can relate.

“Bug off,” Kyoutani says pleasantly, and picks up the call just before it goes to voicemail. “What?” he asks Yahaba.

“Are you in a mood?” Yahaba asks. 

“Did you call just to ask that?” Kyoutani traps the phone between his ear and shoulder, hefting up his practice bag again as he walks.

“Yeah, definitely,” Yahaba says, and Kyoutani can tell he’s smiling. “I’ve got to add it to my daily Kyoutani Kentarou moodboard. I’ve got a 2,000 day streak on grumpy, but maybe today’s the day things change.”

Kyoutani can’t help laughing. “Asshole,” he says. “What do you want for real?”

“Do you know what day it is?”

“It’s Wednesday,” Kyoutani says, looking both ways as he crosses the street. He’s hungry and tired and his tolerance for Yahaba’s banter is going to run out quickly if he keeps up this Twenty Questions routine. “I’ve been practicing for the past six hours, so maybe get to the point.”

On the other end, Yahaba sighs. But he says, “It’s exactly one month before the Olympics. Argentina is going to whip Japan’s ass.”

“Maybe,” Kyoutani grunts. He has some ideas about that, having played against a pretty solid chunk of Japan’s national team, not to mention Iwaizumi-senpai being their trainer. He never liked Oikawa much, anyway, so rooting against him feels right. But he knows he’s in the minority when it comes to Seijoh’s alums— or at least that’s what Yahaba keeps telling him. “What’s your point?”

“Well, you want to make a bet, Kentarou-kun?” Yahaba never calls him that.

“Maybe,” Kyoutani says again. He could always use some extra cash. “How much?”

“That’s no fun,” Yahaba says, and Kyoutani knows his face well enough to know he’s pouting now. “How about a favor instead? If Argentina gets further than Japan, then you owe me one.”

“What if Japan does?” Kyoutani asks.

“Won’t happen,” Yahaba says airily. “But sure, if they do? You can get whatever you want. Deal?”

Kyoutani doesn’t know what he wants from Yahaba. “Deal,” he says anyway.

  


* * *

  


Kyoutani lives in an apartment alone these days. When he was growing up, it was always loud in his house with his sister’s friends running all over and his dog barking every time someone walked by. His apartment is tiny, but quiet, which is a little weird but mostly he likes it. He wishes he could have a dog, though. Wherever he lives next, he’s gonna have a dog.

He takes a bath when he gets home, even though he showered at the gym. Dinner is leftover takeout from two nights ago, and his big plans for the night are collapsing on his couch and falling asleep in front of the TV, same as pretty much every night, unless his coworkers or teammates invite him out. No matter what Yahaba thinks, Kyoutani isn't as grumpy as he was as a kid, but he’s not exactly drowning in friends either.

It’s okay, mostly. His life is okay, mostly. He can’t really explain why he’s thinking about a two-minute call from Yahaba still, not really, but he is thinking about it. It feels itchy inside his head and he knows he’s frowning at nothing.

Kyoutani sighs and turns off the television, pillowing his hands behind his head.

It’s an exaggeration to call Yahaba his ex. Kyoutani doesn’t have any exes, technically speaking, just a few ill-advised hookups and blind dates that never went anywhere. Yahaba was the first of Kyoutani’s spotty dating history, though, and he guesses you never forget your first. Sucks for him that his first was so confusing, but that’s Kyoutani in a nutshell.

Nothing really happened between them till third year. Yeah, before that, Kyoutani often left practices frustrated and prickly after arguing with Yahaba, but he always chalked that up to not liking the guy. Never mind that he found his mouth going dry every time they changed in the locker room together. Never mind that seeing Yahaba sweaty and wiping his forehead with his shirt made him sweaty, too.

He remembers when it did happen, though. Seijoh was playing a practice match against Karasuno, who were a pain as always. No matter how much Kyoutani pretended not to care about Oikawa when he was the setter, it was hard adjusting to Yahaba’s style and with most of Karasuno’s starting line-up returning that year, Seijoh was having a hard time even with their deep bench.

He remembers yelling at Yahaba in frustration, remembers how it escalated into such a bad fight that Karasuno’s hot-headed ace ducked the net to pull Kyoutani off of Yahaba, while Karasuno’s captain wound up having to hold Yahaba back. It sucked that the two of them couldn’t get along at a practice match while Karasuno worked so well together that two randos could successfully intervene in another team’s fight. Who were those guys again anyway? Kyoutani thinks. Oh yeah, Tanaka and Ennoshita.

Anyway, he remembers Tanaka steering him off the court, cheerfully telling him that sometimes he wanted to punch all of his teammates, and how that made all the fight go out of him. Kyoutani knew his temper got out of control— he _knew_ that and he also knew that time was running out for people waving that off. Being an adult sucked the most when people had all sorts of _expectations_ , and it sucked even more when Kyoutani realized how badly he wanted to live up to those.

Yahaba and him talked after that practice match. Well, they argued for a bit, and then Yahaba threw him against a row of lockers and the rest of the team cleared out fast at that. But after they tired of yelling in each other’s faces, Kyoutani apologized for being a dickhead, and something in Yahaba’s eyes softened and he laughed. He _laughed_ , and Kyoutani thought that Yahaba had a pretty laugh. As all the pieces began to sort themselves out, it was all over for him.

When Kyoutani kissed Yahaba, the pieces locked together, a puzzle, maybe, but one that fit together like it was supposed to. But it never turned into anything more— just a few makeout sessions that left Kyoutani frustrated and wanting. Then they lost their chance to advance to the spring tournament and things fell apart. They retired from the club, they never talked about whatever happened between them, and Yahaba went off to university. And even though they didn’t talk to each other for years, Kyoutani thought about what had happened with Yahaba a lot. He thought about it when he practiced hard until he made a Division II team. He thought about it when he worked construction for his day job. He thought about it through all his short-lived hookups and go-nowhere blind dates. And he’s thinking about it again, now.

What does he want from Yahaba? If he’s being honest, another chance. Ah, he’s pathetic. 

What would Yahaba ask for if he could have whatever he wanted from Kyoutani? Kyoutani laughs to himself. It’s probably better not to think about that.

  


* * *

  


“I thought you were rooting for Argentina,” Kyoutani says instead of _hello_ when Yahaba opens the door to his apartment. Yahaba has the Japanese flag painted on both of his cheeks and a wild look in his eyes even though the match hasn’t started yet.

“They’re in different pools!” Yahaba says, stepping aside so Kyoutani can take off his shoes and put on the guest slippers. “You think I’m gonna root for _Venezuela_? Iwa-san would murder me.”

Kyoutani laughs as he bends over to point his shoes toward the door. “How would he even know?” he asks.

Yahaba’s face darkens. “He’d know,” he said, making Kyoutani laugh again. “Come on, you gotta get your facepaint done.” He leads Kyoutani down the hall to his living room, then disappears, saying _make yourself at home_. Kyoutani looks all around; the place is bigger than Kyoutani’s; he wonders how much sports instructors make. Maybe Yahaba has roommates. He was always a flirt in school, so maybe he lives with a girlfriend— a boyfriend, even, maybe. That idea makes hot molten anger bubble up dangerously inside Kyoutani’s chest, but he gets it under control before Yahaba bounces back in, waving tubes of face paint in Kyoutani’s direction.

“What the hell is that?” Kyoutani asks. 

Yahaba scoffs. He shoves lightly at Kyoutani’s back, steering him over to the couch.  
“You think I’m gonna let you watch an Olympic volleyball match in my house without the proper accoutrement? Sit.” 

“Sure, mostly because I don’t know what that is,” Kyoutani says, sitting on Yahaba’s couch, which is comfy as hell. He wiggles around, getting even more comfortable; shit, it’s like sitting on a cloud. All of Kyoutani’s practice-related soreness disappears into Yahaba’s high-density foam cushions, and he relaxes completely before tensing up again because Yahaba is leaning over him. “What the hell?” he asks, successfully keeping the nervousness out of his voice.

“Accoutrement,” Yahaba says again, dangerously close to Kyoutani’s face. He holds up his hand, also dangerously close to Kyoutani’s. “Face paint, see?”

Kyoutani licks his lips, his nervous habit. “Why didn’t you just say that?” he grumbles.

Yahaba laughs. “Because that’s no fun. Now stay still.”

That isn’t a problem. Kyoutani almost forgets to breathe as Yahaba starts to paint his cheeks. He’s not sure if he’s supposed to look up at Yahaba’s face as he waits, but he doesn’t know where else to look either. Yahaba’s face is one of perfect concentration, focused on his task like it’s something way more important than drawing a flag on Kyoutani’s cheeks. He’s always been like that, giving unimportant things meaning— intense, and it’s intense for Kyoutani seeing it up close and personal again. The years have been kind to Yahaba; it’s easier to see this close. The baby fat he used to have on his cheeks has melted away, leaving defined cheekbones behind. His shoulders have filled out and he seems more relaxed than Kyoutani remembers him from high school. He wishes he could say the same for himself. Kyoutani inhales shakily and realizes, damn, Yahaba even smells amazing. As Yahaba switches to the other cheek, Kyoutani's own hands fidget restlessly in his lap, and he wishes that Yahaba would hurry it up. He also somehow kind of wants the opposite.

“There,” Yahaba says a moment later, straightening up to admire his work. He smiles. “Perfect, if I do say so myself.”

“Thanks, I guess,” Kyoutani says.

“You’re welcome,” Yahaba says pleasantly. “You should be, given the imperfection of my canvas.”

Kyoutani scrunches up his face. “Jerk,” he says.

Yahaba laughs. “Yes,” he agrees. He runs off to get them snacks and drinks, and when he comes back, he sits down right next to Kyoutani, even though there’s plenty of room for both of them on the most comfortable couch in the world. The television flickers on, a gigantic Samsung that would fit in better in a crowded bar than an apartment with two guys watching it.

Something occurs to Kyoutani then. “Is it just us?” he asks.

“Yeah, I live by myself and didn’t invite anyone else over,” Yahaba says, then crams a handful of popcorn into his mouth before passing the bowl over to Kyoutani. “Is that a bad thing?” he asks, though his mouth is full so it’s not easy to understand. Kyoutani laughs and Yahaba throws popcorn at him.

“It’s not bad,” Kyoutani tells him, and he feels Yahaba relax next to him, which, weird. 

Watching the match with Yahaba is fun. It’s more than fun— it’s the best time Kyoutani has had in weeks. They root for Japan loudly enough that Yahaba’s neighbor starts pounding on their shared wall, which just makes them both dissolve into laughter. Kyoutani leans way forward as he watches guys he’s played against play in in front of the whole world, wondering if he has a chance of making it onto the team in 2024; probably not, but there’s been a lot of buzz about promoting the Frogs to Division I next season after they kicked ass at the last Kurowashiki.

“If you make it to the next Olympics, I’ll root for Japan,” Yahaba says, making Kyoutani look at him over his shoulder.

“Over your beloved Oikawa?” he asks. If Yahaba notices Kyoutani sounds more bitter than he intended, it doesn’t show on his face.

“Of course,” Yahaba says. “You were my ace. What kind of captain and setter would I be if I didn’t? Besides,” he adds easily, “I like you better.”

Kyoutani feels himself blush, but Yahaba doesn’t seem to notice. Maybe the facepaint was a good idea after all.

Japan beats Venezuela in the fourth set with a patented Kageyama-Hinata super quick, and even though he’s cheering for the national team, Kyoutani still feels the sting of his own losses to those two, fresh as an open wound. It’s funny the things that stick with you.

“Do you ever blame them?” Yahaba asks as they watch the celebration in the Ariake Arena, shuffling close enough that their legs are pressed up together.

Kyoutani blinks and glances down. Their hands are pretty close together; it wouldn’t take much to link them together. “Blame them for what?”

Yahaba shrugs, his t-shirt brushing against Kyoutani’s. “Stopping us from going to nationals.”

“No,” Kyoutani says, shaking his head. “It wasn’t just them anyway. We were always a good team and shit happens. And it was a long time ago.”

“I still blame them,” Yahaba says, laughing, “but I guess you play with one of their guys anyway, so it’s given you time to get over it. I’ve always been pettier anyway.”

Kyoutani grins. “Damn right you have,” he says, nudging their shoulders together.

It’s a shame, but Kyoutani has to leave not long after, even though tomorrow is Sunday. He has practice to make up for all the Div II guys who still have regular jobs on top of their pro matches. Like him, for instance. He’s, like, a responsible adult and stuff now. That’s not always bad, especially when it means he gets to spend hours alone with someone he hasn’t seen in person since before he had his own place and money and no one but his boss and coach dictating his schedule.

“This was fun,” Kyoutani tells Yahaba as he puts his shoes back on by the front door.

“Yeah,” Yahaba agrees. “And as long as all of these dorks make it into the quarterfinals, our bet is still on.” He tilts his head. “Right?”

“Right,” says Kyoutani. “And when I win, you’ll give me whatever I want.”

Yahaba raises his eyebrows. “Maybe I’ll keep rooting for Japan then.”

Kyoutani snorts and straightens up again. He wants to ask if Yahaba ever thinks about the two of them back then, but all he does is stare at Yahaba for a moment and say, “We’ll see.” 

He doesn’t know if it’s the nostalgia. He doesn’t know if he’s filled with energy over Japan’s win. He doesn’t know if it’s the look on Yahaba’s face, or how closely they’re standing together, or the way he smells, but he nearly kisses Yahaba then. He doesn’t. But he thinks about it.

“Let’s do this again soon,” Kyoutani says instead, standing in the doorway before fleeing down the hall.

Yahaba’s voice echoes after him. “Soon,” he agrees.

  


* * *

  


The Frogs’ gym is pretty empty when Kyoutani gets there. Makes sense— Japan has made it all the way to the quarter-finals, and a bunch of volleyball nerds aren’t going to show up to an optional practice when the country has a shot at an Olympic medal. Even Kyoutani is watching the introductions on his phone, though he doesn’t plan on watching for long.

Man. It’s crazy to think that his old captain is playing in the Olympics, but for the _other_ team. He shakes his head.

The gym door swings open and Kyoutani looks over his shoulder, surprised to see Tsukishima coming in. Of all people, he expected him to be watching the game today, and he tells Tsukishima as much.

“I’ll watch later,” Tsukishima says. He tells Kyoutani that he just had to get out and move around, though, and Kyoutani gets that. He’s got a bunch of pent up extra energy, too.

Yahaba invited him along to watch the match with the rest of the old Seijoh gang, but he knew they were all rooting for Argentina and Kyoutani didn’t want to ruin the vibe. More accurately, Kyoutani didn’t want to wind up rooting for Argentina himself, even with Iwazumi training the Japanese team, because that was as good as admitting that he doesn’t mind losing to Yahaba. Maybe he’s hoping that what Yahaba wants is the same thing as Kyoutani.

Instead, he lets Tsukishima put him through the paces. Tsukishima’s serves don’t have the same power that Kyoutani’s do, but the guy is tricky and he’s got a greater variety of weapons in his arsenal. Kyoutani gets his revenge by putting all his power into his spikes. They both wind up worn out and happier for it, and by the time they leave practice, they’re both satisfied.

“Gonna go watch the match now?” Kyoutani asks before they part ways.

Tsukishima sighs. “Yeah. So many people would kill me if I didn’t,” he says, but he’s smiling and Kyoutani knows he doesn’t mind. “You?”

“I guess,” Kyoutani says. “Got a bet riding on it.”

When he gets home, Kyoutani is surprised to realize that the match is still going on, pushed to a fifth set by two teams who look in equal measures exhausted and elated. _Damn_ , Kyoutani thinks, _I want to be out there, too._

In the end, it’s Oikawa’s serve and follow-up that takes down Japan. Even though they had the home court advantage, the crowd goes wild for Argentina. Well, it makes sense. Oikawa is still one of their own. Kyoutani’s phone starts ringing just as Hinata Shouyou crosses the net and tackles Oikawa in a congratulatory hug, and he already knows who it is without looking.

“Congratulations,” Kyoutani says, trying to sound crabby about it and failing entirely. “Name your prize.”

“A date with you. A real one,” Yahaba says without saying hello. “Our first real one, technically.” Kyoutani blinks. “If that’s okay,” Yahaba adds when Kyoutani doesn’t respond right away.

Kyoutani finds his voice. “Yeah,” he says roughly and clears his throat. “Yes. Yeah, that’s okay.”

  


* * *

  


Their first real date goes extremely well, and they don’t even have to make a bet for the second one. Kyoutani is happy to learn that they haven’t forgotten how to kiss.


End file.
